


The Man He Knew

by EvilPeaches



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Future rating change, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilPeaches/pseuds/EvilPeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik never liked Altair all that much. It didn't help that the fool got his brother killed. Oh no, that didn't help at all. In fact, it created more complications than either man wanted to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Most Unwanted Guest

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** Alright, after replaying AC1 I got back in a Altair/Malik mood. As a forewarning, this will be raised to an M rating. I generally write very graphic sex scenes, so believe me when I say this fic will deserve an **E rating** soon enough. Also, I wanted to focus this fic on the idea that Malik and Altair were **NOT** friends when they were growing up. I want to write about a heated rivalry that turned into something more, even after tragedy.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** No, I do not own any of the characters. Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft.

The message arrives, but that doesn't mean that Malik has to be happy about it. In fact, as his dark eyes scan the parchment, the more his brow furrows. The messenger gasps as the Dai violently crumples the note into obscurity right before his eyes. "Dai, pray tell, is something the matter? Has something displeased you?"

"Indeed. The Master sends the most foul of creatures to my doorstep."

"Ah…I see." Truly, the messenger doesn't.

Malik glares into empty space as his thoughts take a murderous turn. Perhaps he could send a message back? Perhaps he could ask, no, _beg_ Al Mualim for mercy, beg him to send anyone else to kill Talal. It has been many months since he has last seen the most despised half-breed of Masyaf. Allah knows this could be a gift, perhaps he could always slip his blade between the Despised One's ribs in the night.

Ah, but that would be too painless. A pity. Malik sighs and looks back at the destroyed note and bemoans the fact that while it is a nice fantasy, he will not be committing any murder in his bureau any time soon.

"Who does the Master send for this mission? I never thought you had any ill will towards one of the brothers," the messenger asks slowly, fearing the razor sharp words that could seemingly pour from the one-armed Dai's lips at any moment.

Malik bares his teeth in a horrid imitation of a grin. "Oh, this is no brother of mine. He killed my kin. He does not deserve to be considered one of the brotherhood." He makes a gesture with his one arm, his voice rising irritably, "The Creed is meaningless to him."

A spark of recognition appears in the messengers eyes. He knows of the tragedies that have befallen the Dai and he knows being a Dai is not Malik's choice. "So. It is the Great Eagle who comes to Jerusalem then?"

Malik scratches at one of his maps furiously. "The Great Eagle? You are so amusing, I can barely contain my laughter. The Worthless One is more fitting. Let me say this, my friend. If I never see La'Ahad again, it will be too soon."

The mood of the bureau quickly becomes too stifling for the messenger, who nervously nods his head in respect and takes his leave. Malik doesn't even raise his head to watch the other man disappear. His thoughts are filled of wishful vengeance, his brother's twinkling laughter, and the sneer on Altair's scarred lips.

Allah knows; Malik has never liked Altair all that much.

That night, Malik dreams of life and death and everything in between. The fractured memories are like nightmares and his sleep is not restful in the slightest.

" _He is watching you again," his brother says in a whisper._

_Malik does not have to ask who Kadar means; instead he simply turns his head, lowering his sparring sword. Across the courtyard, he catches Altair's glare. Although Malik cannot see underneath the hood covering most of the other's face, he only has to imagine that cold fire that burns in Altair's eyes. Malik spits on the ground and Kadar jerks away to avoid it, nervously looking between his brother and his idol. "Let the fool watch. I care not," Malik mutters, turning away to continue going through his paces with the blade._

_Kadar bites his lip and whispers, "I think he is threatened by your skill. You know how jealous he is of Al Mualim's approval."_

" _And you are whispering why? Do you fear that the half-wit will hear your words? Because believe you me, my dear brother, he is probably trying to read your lips."_

_Kadar looks scandalized and awed all at once. "He can do that?"_

_Malik groans at the blatant hero worship. "Please, do not make me vomit, he is too dim-witted. Heed my words, Kadar. La'Ahad is nothing but trouble. You would do well to turn your admiration to someone who is actually worthy."_

" _But, brother…"_

" _No buts or ifs Kadar. I swear -ouch- hey! Watch where you are blundering!"_

_Altair's lip curls in disdain. He had crossed the yard and slammed his shoulder into Malik's in passing, effectively stopping the conversation as he stormed by. "Stop gossiping about me like old women. It's pathetic."_

" _Well, I am surprised that you would even know what a woman looks like, seeing how those of the female persuasion tend to avoid you like a venereal disease!" Malik shouts at Altair's retreating back, Kadar wincing._

_Altair stiffens and spins around to point his finger menacingly in Malik's direction. "At least I can perform! I've heard your skill with your 'sword' is less than inspiring."_

_Malik faintly hears Kadar mutter 'Allah help us, here they go' but he pays no heed. His mouth works for a few moments as his vocal cords catch up with what his brain wants to say next. "How dare you…you…eunuch!"_

_Altair's mouth stiffens under his hood and Malik takes pleasure in imagining the horrified look on his face. There is silence for a moment before Altair hollers, "_ Fuck _you, A-Sayf," His eyes land on Kadar and he sneers, "and your extra appendage too!"_

_Malik tries not to smirk at Altair's usual display of his lack of control. To Kadar he says calmly in a loud voice, confident and in control, "Look, my brother, you see how limited his vocabulary is? Such vulgar words."_

_It is even more satisfying to hear Altair's wordless shout of frustration as he stomps off into the castle._

The dream swirls into another memory seamlessly and Malik shifts in his sleep restlessly.

_Malik is sure that the combat instructor assigns certain sparring pairs based on which will provide the most entertainment for the day. Altair and Malik would be one of the pairs that entertain the man the most. After all, it is far more enjoyable to watch two skilled swordsmen fight after having to watch at least seven other pairs struggle to last against each other for more than five minutes._

_Malik's legs are shaking with nerves and he struggles to keep his wrists from locking up. He needs to be flexible and he needs to be fast. His opponent enjoys brute force and trickery. The One of Heathen Blood stands before him in an aggressive stance, shoulders tense. "Begin!" The combat instructor's voice seems leagues away as blood pounds through Malik's skull._

_Altair charges, snarling. Before Malik has a chance to react, the Son of None kicks out harshly, sending Malik onto his stomach. Cursing under his breath, Malik rolls away quickly as his opponent brings his foot down hard in the spot he had previously occupied. Malik leaps up and brings his sword forward, feeling rather than seeing Altair block as he spins and tries to strike Altair from another angle._

_Altair blocks him yet again and drives forward with his unoccupied fist. Malik turns his head to the side to avoid it, knowing a well aimed punch from Altair can daze even the sturdiest of journeymen. Malik veers away quickly, light on his feet. He parries more of Altair's attacks, patiently watching his rival. After all, patience is one of the many virtues that Altair does_ not _possess. It can be used against him easily._

_Truly, there is nothing admirable about Altair, so Malik doesn't understand why Kadar is so enamored to the point of stupidity._

_The echo of their metal clanging and their harsh breathing is the only sound in the yard. Malik is waiting for Altair to fall into his usual fighting routine, he waits for the tell-tale signs. Malik knows how Altair fights and he knows to watch for when Altair gets desperate to win. When he becomes desperate he gets reckless and Malik is ready to pounce on that. When he sees Altair begin to get sloppy with the urge to beat Malik fast, he strikes rapidly, nearly knocking Altair's sparring blade from his grasp._

_They lock blades and Malik steps on Altair's foot and shoves with his shoulder, trying to get him off balance. It doesn't work, but he sees the fury pouring out of Altair's hazel eyes. Malik almost grins in triumph. Moving away from each other, Malik presses on with the attack once more, almost getting Altair into a corner of the ring. The only problem is, once Altair is corned, he only gets more dangerous. He ducks under Malik's blade as Malik takes a large swing and comes back up with a fist full of dirt._

_Malik almost isn't surprised when Altair flings it all in his face. Malik splutters and tries to back away, but Altair has now gripped the front of his attire in his fist._

" _You have no honor!" Malik snarls, seeing red through the sand in his eyes._

_Altair's lip curls with disdain, sweat dripping from his brow. "You haven't even begun to see me fight with no honor."_

_He slams his forehead into Malik's nose and Malik hears it crack. Anger burns up through Malik's throat as Altair follows through with his attack and slams Malik into the dirt. Malik grips Altair's sword wrist and holds tight, digging his thumb in between the bones on his inner wrist, causing Altair to tense in discomfort as he struggles to keep Malik pinned. Malik hisses in a low voice, "So, this is how you want to fight? Like an animal? Fine."_

_He buries his teeth into Altair's neck and tastes copper on his tongue. Altair howls in pain and at some point the combat instructor pulls them apart as Altair abandons his weapon and simply pulls at Malik's hair. "I have never seen such a wretched fight in my life! You call yourselves warriors? Hah! Get out of my sight," the combat instructor growls, his eyes disgusted._

_The two combatants leave the ring, sweating, bleeding, and glaring furiously. Their fight has been cut short and their anger is left unfulfilled. Malik huffs and spits blood out of his mouth as it pours from his nose, which may or may not be broken. He attempts to leave the courtyard in a hurry, but the moment he gets into the castle, he quickly finds that he has been followed, as Altair shoves him against a wall with both hands digging into his shoulders. "You lowly fuck. I see how you practice every day. It's pathetic. You think you can compete with me?"_

_Malik knows he is still geared to fight, but he also knows slugging Altair now will bring him no favor. "Compete? With you? One cannot compete with one who is ill equipped to be a worthy rival."_

" _Liar. You just can't admit it. No matter how hard you try, you will never match up to me," Altair sneers arrogantly and Malik wants to tear his hated face off._

" _You are under the illusion that I even notice you. It is sad, really," Malik replies as airily as he can._

_The look on Altair's face could probably melt steel._

Malik wakes with a gasp, feeling adrenaline rushing through his veins. "Damn that man," Malik hisses into the dark.

He stares at the ceiling long after, unable to rest. His stomach hurts. His nerves are frayed. He doesn't want Altair in his bureau; he doesn't want to see him ever. Their time as novices had been strained; Altair did not have a likable personality, even then. As they grew older and rose through the ranks, things only got worse. Altair generally did not focus on anyone else aside from himself, unless he viewed them as a threat to his status of prodigy. Malik had internally not thought himself on the same level of battle skill with Altair, but apparently Altair had not seen it that way and had taken it upon himself to keep Malik on his toes.

And in the end, that had led to so much pain and misery.

In the end, in Solomon's Temple, if only Altair hadn't been so dead set against working with Malik, maybe Kadar would still be alive and Malik would still have his arm.

Malik still remembers Kadar telling him, _"You know he only acts this way to cover up his insecurities, right? You are like a big brother to everyone in our initiation group. Except you never include him. Don't you think that bothers him? Even a little?"_

_"He excludes himself whenever he opens his big mouth," Malik had replied, disturbed.  
_

Malik scowls venomously into his pillow and tries to sleep.

* * *

 

* * *

In the morning, soft footfalls sound above the bureau and Malik tries not to succumb to dread. He diligently continues to work on the maps in front of him, pushing down his emotions into the roiling pit he usually calls his stomach. There is the telltale thud as someone drops into the next room. Malik doesn't know what he wants to say; there is too much he wants to say. None of it good.

He feels positively ill when Altair struts in with his usual swagger. Malik can see that being demoted has done absolutely nothing in the department of giving Altair any humility. Every word, every thought, gets stuck in Malik's throat and he fears that he will choke. As Altair's unfeeling eyes meet his own from under his hood, Malik can't even tell what the other is feeling. He only sees Altair's proud face and his little brother's blood on his hands.

There is an uncomfortable silence between them as they size each other up. Malik tries not to cringe as Altair's eyes flicker to the spot where his arm should be. _This is going to be alright. Maybe he won't say anything and I can just give him some instructions and he will leave. I can do this. I can stay in control,_ Malik thinks in a rush, his thoughts a jumble.

And then Altair goes and opens his mouth, ruining it all.

"Safety and peace, Malik."

All his thoughts bleed away into self-righteous fury and he can't help but throw Altair's words back in his face. Everything continues downhill as Altair sees fit to demand information that he certainly doesn't deserve with the same attitude that has always set Malik's teeth on edge. "Who do you think you are? A Master Assassin? I see no Master Assassin here. Get out and do your own investigation for once," Malik hisses furiously.

Altair leans over the counter and gets in Malik's face. Uncomfortably so. Malik can almost breath in the usual scent of sandalwood and amber that seem to follow Altair wherever he goes, the oils probably used in his bathing water. Malik resists the urge to lean away, because that would only show Altair that he was indeed making Malik uncomfortable. That just wouldn't do. It would be like spilling blood before a tiger and expecting the beast to not attack.

" _Fine_. I will finish the investigation as fast as I can," Altair grits out between his teeth.

Malik wrinkles his nose in disgust. "No. You will do the investigation until I am sure that you have gotten quality information. I won't take your half-assery here in this bureau. Now, please step away, breathing the same air as you makes me sick."

Altair's hazel eyes have large flecks of gold in them and he is so close that Malik can count almost every single one. He always did have exotic eyes, a gift from his Christian mother. For a moment, Malik fears that Altair will see fit to continue arguing, but the other man huffs and steps out of Malik's comfort zone. "I will return at nightfall. I expect you will have somewhere for me to sleep?"

Allah above, Malik had not thought of this. Secretly he had been hoping that Altair could just magically finish the mission in a few hours and disappear back to Masyaf forever like a good little rat. Alas, that is not how missions tended to work. Investigations take more than a day generally. Malik had not thought on how long it would take Altair to scale the entire district and hunt down the right people for information. Plus, knowing how bull-headed Altair was, making sense of the information would take even longer.

Joy. Malik could look forward to at least two nights of Altair.

"What do you think I run here? An inn?"

Altair pauses at the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer he wants to hear. That's how it always has been with the man; only hears what he wants and nothing else. Malik sighs in frustration and mutters, "Of course you will be able to sleep here. But be quiet! I'll have no ruckus going on in here if you come back after dark."

"Of course," Altair breathes out.

Then he is gone, tearing out of the room and taking a leap at the entrance of the bureau. Malik lets out the air he didn't know he was holding in his chest. _There._ _That wasn't so bad, now was it_ , he thinks vaguely, _there could have been fists involved_. Above, he hears a thud and a grunt of pain, mostly likely from Altair's foot getting stuck in one of the larger holes in the entrances grate in his hurry to disappear. "What a fool! He's going to get himself killed one of these days," Malik says to no one in particular.

He returns to his maps and pours over them once more as if nothing unusual had happened that day. Malik's dark eyes search for any mistakes on the parchment as he tries to keep his mind off of the notion that Altair will be back sometime tonight and he will have to deal with him once more. It is most unfortunate; when Malik had asked to be stationed far away from Altair, he had not expected Al Mualim to send Altair to him! What was that old man thinking?

The whole damn point of being in Jerusalem is to be away. Alas, it appears that no matter where Malik runs or where he hides, he will never escape Altair, who he swears lives only to cause him misery. Ah, but fate is a cruel mistress indeed.

* * *

 

* * *


	2. Those That Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Ubisoft owns Assassin's Creed.
> 
> **AN:** Hope you enjoy the new installment! I should have the next part up in a few days with the right motivation.  
>  Anyway, I know I'm not being nice to Altair right now, but believe me, I love him, he's one of my favorite characters in AC, along with Malik. Let's face it, Altair is a dick, or rather, he was a dick. I don't see Malik liking him much until after he started fixing his attitude. So. Never fear either, this isn't just going to be a re-write of the game. I will briefly mention some of the missions from the game, but there will be no real detail about that. I will be mainly focusing on our boys and their relationship.

Malik grimaces as if in pain as he hears their high voices echoing above the rooftops as they race towards the Jerusalem bureau. He has never appreciated loud, frivolous people, at least not these days in the absence of his brother, who shared many of the traits these new novices display. It is late in the afternoon when the pair of teenage boys drop into Malik’s office unceremoniously. From the other room, the one called Ashur calls out, “Dai Malik, we are back!”

Malik groans at the overly enthusiastic voice. “I know. I heard you both yammering like little girls from five houses down. Please tell me you brought the supplies I asked of you.”

The smallest of the pair, Jalil, walks into Malik’s office and plops down a sack filled with parchment and ink. The young teen grins widely up at him and Malik grudgingly realizes the boy is looking for some sort of praise or acknowledgement for a job well done. “We got everything you asked for, Dai.”

Malik squints at Ashur as the taller boy enters the office area. “You didn’t steal anything did you? I’ll make you take it back myself, mark my words…”

Ashur only laughs good naturedly and Jalil shakes his head furiously as if offended by the very idea. Ashur sets a small box down in front of Malik and gestures for him to take it eagerly. Raising an eyebrow, Malik flips open the top and looks down at the assorted incense within. “I don’t recall incense being on my list of needed supplies, novices.”

He says it dryly, but secretly he is pleased. Not that he needs the novices knowing that. It would swell their egos and Allah knows Malik _loathes_ big egos. Large, obnoxious egos that aren’t his, of course. “Yes, we know, but we noticed your supply is getting pretty low on your usual choices so we figured we would pick up some for you,” Jalil says quickly, as if nervous about being shot down.

Malik feels his resolve to be stern slowly dissipate. Deep down he knows the boys didn’t mean any harm by getting him something they thought he would like. Truly, he was indeed running out. However, as always there is the nagging feeling that people go out of there way for him because they view him as a cripple, a thought that puts a dent in his pride.

And yes, he has a lot of pride so a dent isn’t going to do much to it, but still.

“That is beside the point, novice, but the gesture is dually noted. You have my thanks,” Malik says awkwardly when the boys don’t stop staring at him as if they are dogs waiting for a bone.

They both grin and retreat back towards the small fountain in the other room, leaving Malik to his peace. He has had a non-stop flow of novices appearing in Jerusalem lately and it is driving him up the wall. What he would have given to be stationed somewhere not so popular with assassins and initiates! The stump of his arm burns momentarily, as if a reminder of why he is doomed to be a Dai the rest of his life.

He retreats further into the bureau, towards the back rooms so he can prepare something simple for dinner. The boys may be capable of cooking something, but Malik fears he will be viewed as unable to take care of himself if he orders them to prepare supper. The two novices have been staying at Malik’s bureau for the past three nights and tonight is their last. _Ah well, I haven’t enough cushions out there for the Exalted One to sleep on when he returns tonight. Such a pity,_ Malik muses with bad humor.

The trio eats their supper together, and although Malik isn’t the hugest fan of having extended company in his bureau, the boys are not so awful. Ashur and Jalil are a lively pair and seem genuinely interested in Malik and his former travels as an assassin. Ashur is a slob and talks with his mouth full in a most disgusting of manners. “So, then you snuck into the crusader’s bedroom and stole the message to King Richard? Just like that?”

Malik grins wanly. “Just like that.”

“How did you lose your arm?” Jalil asks, his eyes on Malik’s empty sleeve.

Malik stiffens in discomfort and bites into a roll of bread slowly. He is surprised it took so long for one of the novices to ask about it. Usually it is one of the first questions young ones ask about since they weren’t old enough to know much about the situation at Solomon’s Temple. Ashur notices Malik’s sudden standoffishness and elbows his younger counterpart roughly. “Idiot. You don’t just go saying stuff like that! I’m sorry Dai Malik, just ignore him.”

The Dai swallows his food and takes a large gulp of water. He’ll vaguely tell them, but only because he never misses a chance to further ruin Altair’s already bad reputation. “It’s fine, really. I was on a mission with two other brothers, one whom was actually my blood. The other was a ‘Master Assassin,’ a title he did not deserve in the slightest. His arrogance, thirst for blood, and his disregard for our Creed got my brother killed and cost me my arm and future as an assassin. Here I am.”

Ashur’s face wrinkles in disgust. The boy is too young to fully fathom the dangers of a serious mission, but he always believed that those of a higher rank would have better judgment than to disregard the Creed and the brotherhood. “A Master Assassin? Surely the brotherhood had him executed for such a heinous betrayal!”

Jalil nods his head in agreement, but Malik only sighs dramatically for effect. “Alas, Al Mualim only demoted the traitor. Now the fool runs around trying to regain his honor, hah! What a joke. As if he had any to begin with.”

“Who is the assassin? I wonder if I have met him,” Ashur mutters, more to himself than to the group.

Glancing towards the entrance of the bureau, Malik says, “You may have a chance to meet him tonight. I believe he is staying here.”

“Lovely. We don’t have to give up our sleeping cushions do we?”

Malik holds in his grin as he stands up to begin clearing the dishes. “No, of course you don’t.”

* * *

 

* * *

 

The sound of the young novices whispering in the other room helped Malik fall asleep that night. The white noise reminded him of his time as a novice, surrounded by other boys his own age. He can still recall the way Abbas snored or how Rauf always found something more to talk about, whispering his thoughts to whomever’s bedroll was closest to his; and how Altair was always hissing for Rauf to shut up.

Malik fondly remembers an incident where Altair whipped his boot at Abbas’ sleeping head when the snoring became too much for anyone to bear. Abbas had woken up immediately, yowling in pain like a cat. To add to insult, Altair had then scathingly told Abbas to sleep in the barn with the horses if he couldn’t control his sleeping habits.

Ah yes. The novices of Malik’s time always had something going on at night. Those were the good days, when none of them had any real responsibility, none of them yet killers. Novices slept in the same room as their year mates until they rose to a rank respectable enough to have their own bedroom in the upper halls. After all, no Master Assassin wanted to be the guy stuck near the children, so the novices had their own wing.

Kadar, being younger than Malik, had not been in the same room, but he did have the tendency to sneak in occasionally when he was having a rough night or was being teased by a boy in his room. This didn’t exactly make Kadar look tough and independent in anyone’s eyes, but the boy didn’t have a mean bone in his body so no one could really even dislike him. Except Altair, but he didn’t like anyone.

At the thought of Altair, Malik growls. The insufferable man has not come back to the bureau yet, so Malik can only assume that Altair will be interrupting everyone’s sleep when he does decide to grace them all with his presence.

Knowing that thinking about Altair will bring him no peace, Malik shifts his thoughts to Kadar. The sorrow that fills him is not unexpected and the pain in his chest is dulled, but just the thought of his brother and his incessant chatter is enough to calm him. Hugging one of his pillows to his body, Malik can almost imagine it is Kadar, back when he was an infant safe in Malik’s arms.

It was such a shame that Malik could not keep him safe forever, but at least he is not the only one to blame. No, he is not.

And then, just like that, his thoughts have already circled back to Altair. Cursing under his breath, Malik burrows into his sheets further and tries not to think of anything else for fear that it will end up bringing him back to thoughts of his former rival and in turn follow him into his dreams where he cannot escape the man.

The novice’s voices are soft and only a gentle echo in the backdrop. Malik falls into a dreamless slumber, if only for a few hours.

In the wee hours of the night, it is just as Malik feared would happen. He jerks awake to a loud squabble occurring a few rooms over in the front of the bureau, in the entrance room where the novices are sleeping. Malik rolls over onto his other side and groans in frustration. “Allah save me from this madness! I just want to shake that man like he’s a bad child.”

He cannot hear the exact words being spoken, but Malik can easily distinguish between the two young teen’s higher tones and the deep, fast hum of a man’s voice. The one with the thunderous, ear shattering complaints can only be Altair, because who else could possibly be so inconsiderate as to start a fight at _this_ hour of the night? Malik feels bad for the two novices, but it is well past midnight and Malik is not getting his rear out of bed. The stump of his arm is aching horribly and he doesn’t want to get into a fight with his other guest, not at the moment. As awful as he feels about it, he leaves Ashur and Jalil to deal with Altair.

Malik pulls one of his pillows over his head and tries to block out the noises in the other room. Irritation and anger are building in his chest, because dear Allah, he wants to charge in and stab them all with his quill. To his disappointment, the pillow does not block much of the sound out, and just the faintest hum of Altair’s voice is enough to set Malik’s teeth on edge with self-righteous fury. It seems the novices are not having any luck on calming Altair down, which also means they aren’t bowing to his every will, which technically isn’t exactly a bad thing.

Unwillingly, Malik strains to hear snippets of what is being said even though he has a pretty good idea it is over the fact that the two teen novices have taken control of anything comfortable to sleep upon. “I’m your better……fucking sleep elsewhere…..you have to listen to me….” The constant hiss of Altair’s voice had been grating on Malik’s ears for far too long at this point.

“I hate that man. Can’t even sleep on the floor can he? Curse him forever,” Malik mutters as he sits up in bed and decides to save the young ones from a long night of suffering.

Malik has suffered most of his life; he’s used to it by now and one more night isn’t going to kill him.

Taking in a deep breath, Malik hollers furiously, “ _Altair_!”

The bureau goes completely silent for a moment as the bickering stops. Clearly they had all thought that Malik had been magically sleeping through their fight. Malik has to strain his ears to hear The Worthless One’s sulky reply, “…what?”

His jaw is clenched so hard that Malik fears he will crack his own teeth. “Get. In. Here.”

There is a rustle of noise in the other room as Altair shoves one of the novices spitefully. He hops over the Dai’s counter and walks towards the bedroom behind it like a man facing his execution. The stiffness of his joints betrays his unwillingness to enter Malik’s inner domain. Malik watches as Altair’s form suddenly fills the dark doorway like an ominous shadow and refrains from comparing the assassin’s likeness to that of a grim reaper. There is silence between them as Altair stands motionlessly before the bedroom, his arms crossed in a semblance of being disinterested, legs set wide.

Malik briefly soaks in the discomfort his continued silence is surely causing Altair and bites his lips to keep from saying something sarcastic. Why not make Altair make the first move? Malik waits; there is no need to say anything at this point. After all, patience isn’t one of Altair’s virtues.

Finally, Altair shifts on his feet and leans against the door frame, unable to handle the awkward silence. His voice is hoarse in the dark. “What do you want, Malik?”

Sweet victory. _Ah, I love making him do things he doesn’t want to do,_ Malik thinks scornfully. “What do I want? Ah, so many things, oh Glorious One, and many I simply can’t have. But since you asked so nicely I shall tell you about a few of them. One, I want my brother back, you know, Kadar, the one you sacrificed in you pathetic attempt at glory. Two, I wish you dead, but that is yet another thing I cannot have. So, I will settle for you staying your boot-licking tongue this night so we can all get some goddamned sleep.”

Altair’s arms go wide in disbelief. “You are still blaming me for your incompetent brother’s untimely death? How is it my fault-”

“Everything is your fault! I just told you to stop talking and you cannot even do that. You never listen!”

The assassin strides into the bedroom and stands before Malik’s bed, his breathing harsh. “I’m not here to argue with you. I thought you had the sleeping arrangements all figured out. If you had done that simple task, we would not be here in this situation. This is _your_ fault.”

A very slight amount of shame fills Malik; Altair is right in this case although he is loathe to admit it. Malik knew the two boys would be staying the night again in addition to Altair, yet he didn’t want to do anything about it believing Altair would simply suck it up. Of course Malik should have known better; when did Altair _ever_ suck up anything he believed to be below him?

“It slipped my mind. There is a bedroll in that corner right there, no, the other side you fool.”

Altair points in the dark at the rather flat, decrepit bedroll as if it is an offensive object. “This is a bedroll? And you expect me to sleep on it?”

Oh yes, Malik certainly does. “Losers can’t be choosers. Lie down and be silent. My ears may be bleeding from hearing the sound of your voice so much this night.”

The other man growls resentfully as he lies down on the designated bedroll. Malik almost sighs in relief as there is peace once more in the bureau. Despite the fact that he can hear the soft cadence of Altair’s breath, the dark is filled with silence. Despite the fact that Malik’s most hated rival is only a few feet away from him, he knows sleep will come easier this time around now that the novices in the other room have quieted down also.

Well. Almost.

There comes an almost unidentifiable mutter in the front room and Altair bellows out, “ _Be silent or I’ll feed you your tongues!”_

Then it truly goes silent, the boys perhaps taking Altair’s threat to heart.

“Eloquent, La’Ahad. Truly.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Altair snorts in response. They lie there in the dark and Malik can almost believe he is back in Masyaf in his old room with seven other boys. Except now he only has Altair. Most unfortunate of course. He would have much rather preferred that Rauf travelled out of Masyaf more. It hadn’t been a surprise when he had become the new combat instructor, but it had been a slight disappointment since Malik knew he would not being seeing Rauf in his bureau ever. He would have to travel to Masyaf to visit his old friend and that just wasn’t possible at the moment.

Malik’s eyes begin to drift closed when Altair’s sharp voice rings out once more. “Do you remember that time the combat instructor took us out on the survival hike overnight?”

This had to be a joke right? Malik’s eyes snap open again and he glares in Altair’s general direction. “You threaten to cut tongues only to start talking yourself? What arrogance. And I don’t even want to talk to you.”

“I don’t like children. Answer my question,” Altair snaps back.

“Oh yes, I recall. It was a cold desert night and I wanted to share the bedroll with Rauf, but I got stuck with you instead,” Malik remembers aloud, scowling at the memory of the frigid night. “What is your point, Altair?”

There is a pause as if Altair doesn’t know what to say. “It’s cold in here and you are hogging all the blankets.”

“I have no sympathy. Be silent beggar!”

“I won’t shut up until you give me one of your blankets,” Altair presses stubbornly.

Malik snarls in disbelief and throws one of his blankets at the other man. “Fine. Have it your way! Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

There are no thanks for the gesture, but Malik had not been expecting one. Altair isn’t known to thank anyone, as he believes he deserves everything he wants, a trait that Malik despises. Altair doesn’t ask, he demands, like a child with no manners.

It may be early morning, but finally, _finally_ the inhabitants of the Jerusalem bureau find sleep.

Altair dreams.

_The night is dark and cold on the path to the kingdom and the novices are all already complaining of exhaustion. Their combat instructor had taken all eight boys from their age class out on an extended trip to teach them how to tough the wilderness on the nights they couldn’t sleep in a town when on a mission._

_“We camp here for the night. No campfires, that draws unwanted attention,” the instructor stated, gesturing around the area he had selected._

_The wind was chilly and biting, blowing through their clothing harshly. Altair shivered despite trying not to, not wanting to seem weak. His eyes cut over to where Abbas stood with his teeth chattering and Altair rolled his eyes in disbelief. The combat instructor began to pair the boys up, explaining, “You will sleep in pairs and take watches in pairs. In a solo mission, you might not sleep at all, depending on how paranoid you are.”_

_Malik inched towards Rauf instinctively and Rauf grinned at him openly. Seeing this, the combat instructor pulled Rauf over to Abbas and gave them first watch. He proceeded to give the boys their partners. Altair watched in apprehension as Malik was pulled over to him. “You two will have the third watch.”_

_Malik’s mouth opened as if he were about to complain, but a hard look from the instructor nipped that in the bud. Malik turned and scowled at Altair and then sat down next to him with obvious reluctance. Altair knows Malik will not want to sleep near him at all, seeing how Malik has always shown great disdain for Altair in general. But whatever, Altair doesn’t need him anyway; he will be great all on his own. He doesn’t need friends to define him. He doesn’t need anybody else._

_But damn, it is cold._

_Just as he is lying down some distance from Malik, the other boy says neutrally, “Come over here by me. If we sleep back to back, it won’t be so cold. We won’t get any sleep before our watch if we are freezing.”_

_Altair is shocked since he’s never heard anything kind out of Malik when it is directed towards him. Not that this is exactly Malik being kind, the words were probably acid in his mouth, but the attempt at being civil and acknowledging Altair is something he isn’t used to. Hesitant, he goes over and lays down behind his watch partner, still slightly disbelieving. Malik’s body is warm against his, a shield against the wind. He is an almost comforting, solid presence and Altair wonders if this is why Kadar has no qualms about curling up against his brother._

_To cover up his moment of weakness for being grateful about avoiding the cold, Altair hisses, “Sure, I’ll make sure you are warm enough to make it through the night so those beans you call balls don’t shrivel up. Be grateful I’m so generous.”_

_He gets an elbow in his back sharply, but it is worth it._


	3. Thoughts in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Yes, I raised it to M, but I plan on taking it to E in a few chapters, just as a warning :)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Nope, don't own any of the characters. Ubisoft owns Assassin's Creed.

The sound of birds chirping awakens Malik to the bright morning. The noise is peaceful and he is content to lie still, just listening to the bird’s song. Alas, he cannot be a lazy fool and lie around all day. Malik must get up, get some work done, see the two novices off before they make their trip back to Masyaf, and make sure Altair finished his investigation properly…

Ah. Malik forgot about that.

His chocolate eyes crack open blurrily and he rubs the sleep from them. Taking a deep breath, Malik prays yesterday was all just an awful nightmare and that when he looks in the corner of his room, he will not see Altair passed out in the most uncomfortable of positions. Malik opens his eyes and looks. Then he grimaces, closing his eyes once more. Then he looks again and sighs because Altair didn’t magically disappear.

The young man is curled awkwardly against the wall on top of the rather uncomfortable bedroll. Altair’s head is crooked at a strange angle and Malik knows Altair will surely wake up with a sore neck and back. _Serves him right,_ Malik thinks unpleasantly.

Altair’s hood is down for once and Malik tries not to study the face that he rarely sees without a hood covering it. He isn’t really sure why Altair hides underneath all that cloth; it isn’t like he’s all that bad to look at. Now, if Altair had a face only a mother could love, well, that would be a different matter. But that just isn't the case. Malik’s only complaint would probably be that Altair looks too Christian; his skin isn’t very dark and his brown hair is simply a shade too light.

Ignoring his unwanted bedroom guest, Malik gets out of bed and begins to dress slowly, awkwardly. He is not yet used to dressing with one arm. He struggles to get the clothing up on the stub of his arm and he grunts in frustration, as he does every time this difficulty is presented. If only Malik could forgo bathing and simply never get out of his clothing. Or maybe just bathe in his clothing; perhaps that would work as well.

A warm hand on his shoulder causes Malik to flinch instinctively. He whirls away and finds himself staring into Altair’s neutral gaze. “What are you doing?” Malik hisses furiously, flushing red and feeling betrayed for reasons unknown.

Altair’s eyes flick over Malik’s half dressed appearance as if sizing him up and Malik feels the childish urge to hide from that knowing gaze. “I was going to help you,” Altair says finally, breaking his uncomfortable stare down.

Malik is far more than furious at the idea of Altair even believing he needs help. “I’m not a cripple, _novice_. And even if I was, I wouldn’t want the likes of you to help dress me like a child.”

For a moment, Altair seems to be at a loss for words, but then he recovers and shuts down, sneering, his lip curling in its usual unpleasant manner. “Have it your way. I would speak with you in your office when you are ready. I am eager to complete my mission.”

“Just get out of my room,” Malik says irately, pointing towards the door.

The assassin strides out stiffly, rubbing his back. Clearly Malik’s bedroll had made for a most painful of nights. When Malik is sure Altair is gone, he continues to struggle into his clothing. _So stupid, I should have just let him do what he wanted. Then I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble,_ Malik thinks mutinously.

But no, Malik’s pride would not allow for the man who had caused his little brother’s death to help him in any fashion. It would be a horrible offense to Kadar’s memory. His little brother, who was unable to even have his body brought home.

Clenching his fist, Malik finally gets the black outer robe on and composes himself. He joins Altair in the office, who is currently looking over some of Malik’s maps. “You are getting good at this,” Altair comments offhandedly, not looking up.

“I’ve always been good at using a quill. And reading, did I mention that? Where have you been all my life, eh, La’Ahad?”

Altair looks up then, his hood now back in place. It is hard to decipher his facial expression, but Malik likes to think it is darkly amused. “I was in the combat ring. Not a library.”

“Ah, so that must be why you only have brawn and no brains?” Malik replies sharply, shooing the other male away from his maps.

The two novices stumble into the office, both rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Altair glares menacingly at the pair and Ashur gives it right back. Malik is almost proud. _A boy after my own heart…_

“I believe you said you had some information for me, Altair. Speak. Show these novices how it is done, except show them correctly,” Malik commands, leaning over his desk and resting his head on his propped up hand in boredom.

Altair takes a deep breath and relays his findings of the other day, producing a few sheets of parchment he had stolen off those connected to the target. Malik grudgingly listens to Altair as he speaks, realizing that the man had done his job well. If only he could have done things right in the past. “Fine, I trust you can manage to follow the Creed this time. Take this feather and bring it back soaked in Talal’s blood.”

“I will,” Altair says flatly as he takes the feather and disappears from the bureau.

Ashur and Jalil watch him go, similar expressions of dislike on their features. Jalil asks, “Will he be able to do it, Dai Malik?”

“Of course he will be able to. The only thing Altair is good at is causing death and destruction,” Malik replies airily.

Jalil frowns at his words. “I wouldn’t call that a good thing.”

Malik is silent for a moment. The life of an assassin is not supposed to be about glory and anything good. It is a dark and dirty work and it calls for death and destruction. But a man should not focus his whole life around it, not become one with it like Altair has. “I wouldn’t call it a good thing either. But enough of that fool. Do you boys have everything you need to make it back to Masyaf this morning?”

Ashur nods. “Yes, Dai. We will probably leave within the hour if you have nothing else we can help you with.”

Malik pretends to think seriously although he already knows he doesn’t need anything else from the novices. “Hm, such helpful novices you are. However, I believe that will be all. Take a few loaves of bread with you; I don’t want you to end up starving on your trip.”

When the pair leaves, pledging to return again in a few months, Malik has nothing else to do aside from wait for Altair to return with news of his mission. Hopefully the fool doesn’t screw up the assassination.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

  
Noon brings an extraordinary heat wave and Malik feels sweat begin to run down his back. He is beginning to feel his nerves, as it has been hours since Altair left to complete his mission. _What could possibly be taking him so long?_

The sudden loud clang of the bells causes Malik to spill his ink pot. Snarling a curse in response, Malik glares down at his ruined map. He will have to start all over again, as the black ink is covering more than half of the parchment. It takes him a moment or more to push his displeasure away so he can think about the fact that the bells are indeed still tolling.

And it isn’t because it just became noon.

His mouth sags open in horror as he comes to the realization that he needs to actually close the entrance to the bureau. Malik hasn’t had to do that for _anyone_ yet. Muttering furiously to himself, Malik strides to the entrance to lock up. “Why? Why am I not surprised that he couldn’t successfully assassinate someone without calling attention to himself? Why do I even bother giving him the benefit of the doubt? I should have closed the entrance door the moment he left!”

It is a difficult feat for the one armed man to climb up wall and close a horizontal gate at the same time, so he simply uses a far reaching pole to pull the gate into place so Altair can’t jump in while the guards are chasing him. “What an unredeemable fool,” Malik hisses, glaring up into the sun.

He paces the bureau for an hour, waiting and waiting for the toll of the bell to begin to fade. In the darkest part of his heart, Malik is almost hoping Altair does not come back. He tries to shake the thought from his mind, although he isn’t exactly successful. After waiting a little longer, things begin to get quiet once more and Malik sighs, going to the gate and opening it once more so Altair can come back. The chase is over.

Malik lights some of the new incense the novices had brought him as a gift and breathes it in, feeling himself calm. After all, it is hard on the body to be so tense all the time. He knows he will have knots in his back anyway from being bent over the counter all day mapping. Just as he has almost forgotten Altair, the other man drops into the bureau, the bells a very faint echo in the background now. “I have returned. Talal is dead,” Altair states confidently, the pride in his voice evident.

It feels like a razor on Malik’s skin, dangerous and grating.

Malik looks up and thins his lips as he studies Altair’s form, noticing the sweat dripping from his nose under the raised hood. “Oh, I know. In fact, the whole _city_ knows! What happened to carrying out the assassination according to the Creed? What happened to not drawing attention to yourself?”

Altair rolls his eyes and places the feather in front of Malik. “What does it matter? The man is dead. He will trouble Jerusalem no more.”

Malik slams his fist down on the counter, his voice rising dangerously. “You never change do you? I don’t see what sort of transformation Al Mualim thinks you will magically go through.”

“Al Mualim is wrong. You can’t fix what isn’t broken. There is no change necessary, this is just me reminding him that I am still the best he has,” Altair hisses through clenched teeth.

Malik shakes his head in disbelief. “Such arrogance! Sometimes I cannot believe the words that drip out of your mouth. They are like poison-”

Altair cuts him off, harshly grabbing Malik by the collar and nearly hauling him over the counter. As their noses touch, Altair breathlessly whispers, “If you are done with your childish rant, I will be going back to Masyaf shortly. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”

The hidden blade on his other arm flashes menacingly and Malik briefly wonders if Altair is threatening him. “Are you going to stab me, _brother_? Time to finish the job of offing the entire A-Sayf line?”

“Not this again,” Altair snarls, pushing Malik away from him in disgust.

“You will never escape the truth. Accept your guilt.”

“I have no guilt. My conscience is clean.”

“You are disgusting. Get out of my bureau. Rest if you must, but otherwise return to our Master and leave me in peace,” Malik says as calmly as he can, feeling his chest tighten at Altair’s remorseless words.

Altair cocks his head to the side mockingly. “As you wish. _Safety and peace, brother_.”

Malik meets his eyes and Altair’s gaze is too derisive to bear. The man that stands before him now is not the same as the man who had offered to help Malik dress that morning. Malik never knows what side of Altair he will see next. “Safety and peace,” he mutters in return as Altair leaves for Masyaf.

Even an hour after Altair’s departure, the bureau still smells of him.

And then, as Malik gazes over at the burning incense, he realizes that the scent is sandalwood.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

The Jerusalem bureau is silent again and Malik only has his own self for company. _“_ Ah, peace. At last.”

He is not expecting anyone else for the remainder of the day, as it is getting close to dusk. Malik has not received word that any other assassins will be arriving for any missions, so for the first time in four days he is truly alone. This of course, does not bother him in the slightest.

Malik goes through the usual motions of the evening; cleaning, eating, and reading until he is tired of all of those in general. There is not much else for the one-armed Dai to do but relax and think about what could have been…and what has been.

It is the boredom that bothers Malik the most as a Dai. Once he has stared at a map for as many hours as he can stand, once he has cleaned, once he has eaten, there is only himself left and sometimes his thoughts take him to places he doesn’t want to go. His own enemy is his memories, his thoughts on what he could have done better in the past, the ‘if only’s’ that haunt him better than any phantom ever could. If he could be paid for every moment he spent thinking about Solomon’ Temple and what he wishes he could have done, he would be a rich man.

He tries not to wallow in sorrow when he goes to bed at night. This night, like any other, could warrant unpleasant thoughts of the past, but Malik is too exhausted to think of them. He lies among his sheets and briefly lets his only hand wander down his stomach slowly. His stomach muscles are faint, but still there due to the vigorous types of exercises he puts himself through to stay in shape. Malik likes to think his body would still be mostly attractive to any of the whores in town, but he supposes it does not matter since their job is to have sex for money. It isn’t like they can afford to care about looks.

His hand drifts down lower and he palms himself roughly, wondering if he really is in the mood for anything. It has been so long since he has lain with a woman, he certainly hasn’t thought about it after the amputation occurred. His libido beyond dropped afterwards, but that could also be attributed to multiple things aside from losing his arm, such as the loss of the only person he loved; Kadar.

Malik’s cock is warm, but still soft with nothing to inspire it. His touch isn’t enough anymore to get him really going, his mind has had little stimulation as of late, not to mention all the mental baggage and sorrow he has been lugging around. It isn’t like he has seen a beautiful woman lately to star in his fantasies, but Allah knows it has been forever since he’s had release.

He’s tried before, but it simply isn’t satisfying or doesn’t work. Sometimes, he can get hard, but he simply can’t find the ‘oomph’ to send him over the edge. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. It doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like to.

Malik tries to get an image in his head of the last woman he had been with, months ago. His hand strokes up and down slowly and he squeezes his eyes shut as he recalls her figure vaguely. Her face, he can’t remember, but oh _Allah,_ her body had been fine. He is focusing hard, waiting for a spark of something, and is rewarded when he begins to grow in his grasp, tiny flickers of enjoyment moving into his bloodstream. Malik alternates between twisted his hand gently around his shaft and stroking it up and down, playing with the tip. His breathing is becoming labored and he is almost fully erect in his hand now, but he needs more, it just isn’t enough to get him to the point where he is a gasping mess of sweat and moans.

Gasping, Malik strokes faster, feeling the slow build low in his stomach. It is a vague pleasure, nothing mind blowing at this point. The woman’s body he has plastered in his mind is beautiful, voluptuous. He focuses on her breasts, the way they would feel in his hands, the red of her lips wrapped around his cock, sucking hard. He rubs the tip of his shaft once more, using the precum gathering there as a lubricant for his hand to glide faster, up and down, up and down. The wet sound of him rubbing himself along with his harsh breathing is the only noise in the room.

Gah, he wishes he had another hand so he could cup his balls at the same time. He reaches down further, past his cock to fondle them briefly, rolling them in his hand as he sighs. Malik indulges himself for a few moments more before moving back up to his aching shaft, precum now glistening on the head.

Malik tries to imagine taking the faceless woman from behind, hard and fast and he begins to feel closer to his climax. It is right there, so fucking close and he just can’t reach it no matter how fast he strokes. His hips begin to thrust up into his hand impatiently and he grits his teeth because he fucking wants it so bad, he wants to feel good and breathless for just a few seconds, without any thoughts to pester him at all.

After a few moments of sitting on the edge of oblivion, Malik begins to realize he is about to hit a roadblock again, unable to cum because his mind isn’t invested enough in his fantasy. The woman in his fantasy begins to fade away as Malik begins to lose interest in working so hard just to reach a few seconds of pleasure. And then, without warning, fiery hazel eyes filled with green and gold flash into his thoughts and Malik’s stomach tightens. “Mmh…ah… _ahhh!”_

His balls tense abruptly and what the detailed thought of the whore’s body couldn’t do, just the thought of Altair looking at him heatedly is enough to spill Malik’s seed all over his hand with a choked cry.

Breathing heavily, as if he just ran a few miles, Malik stares up at the ceiling in horror, not quite sure he could rationalize what just happened. The body numbing pleasure his orgasm brought is slowly beginning to seep away, leaving Malik to feel ill.

To feel disgusted with himself.

He barely registers the stickiness of his own cum on his hand and stomach. He barely registers the way his heart is pounding in his skull. All he can think about is how his brother used to smile and how Altair effectively made sure that Kadar would never smile again, and how Altair isn’t even sorry, no he’s not sorry at all. 

He feels sick. He feels sick, he feels sick, he feels…

Malik runs to the chamber pot and is violently ill, retching until his throat burns.

There Malik remains, sitting on the floor with his head clenched in his hand. He keeps his eyes screwed shut for fear that he might actually cry. _Allah, what is wrong with me?_

He’s never hated himself more.


	4. Returning to Masyaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Hey everyone! Thank you for all the comments and kudos! I love you all! I am sorry this took a little longer than I wanted to get released. My relationship of nearly three years just ended a few days ago and I have been a little out of sorts despite it being mutual. It is sort of like losing a best friend so…you know. It’s been difficult to have any motivation. Anyway, here we have some Altair POV, which is fun because he's such a dick and everyone hates his ass. Or loves it secretly. You decide xoxo.
> 
> Jeez, I really just want to skip forward to the butthurt between Malik and Altair, but I can't forsake plot ha. Maybe I should write a dirty nasty oneshot.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or Assassin's Creed. They belong to Ubisoft.

Masyaf is filled with bustling villagers, but all of it is nothing to Altair who strides past in a blur on his way to the keep far up in the hills. He desperately wants to bathe and his ass is killing after being on that horse for the past few days.

He runs past a few assassins, but doesn’t greet any of them, not really recalling half of their names anyway. They were never that important to him, after all. The sun is hotter than usual today and if his hood hadn’t been protecting his face, Altair is sure his skin would be burned by now. As he approaches the entrance to the gate of the castle, Altair slows down, seeing a figure blocking the way as it notices him coming.

“Well, look who it is! Have you come back with another tale of failure and dishonor?”

Altair bares his teeth in mockery of a smile. “I see you have been given a job of great importance, Abbas. Guarding the gate is terribly dangerous. What would we do if we didn’t have you here to throw your words at any who approaches?”

Abbas cups a hand around one of his ears and leans forward, as if hard of hearing. “What was that, Altair? I’m sorry; I could not hear you with your mouth wrapped around Al Mualim’s cock.”

Before Altair can even speak in reply, Rauf appears beside them, groaning loudly. He clearly heard Abbas’ last words.  “Really, Abbas? I thought we were done with that one three years ago.”

The other man only shakes his head, grinning darkly behind his beard. “Verbally abusing La’Ahad never gets old. I will use that one till the day Al Mualim dies.”

Rauf cocks his head to the side and laughingly says, “Oh? And why is that, my cruel friend?”

Altair only raises an eyebrow in sarcastic expectation, arms crossed across his chest. “Indeed. Impress me with your logic, Abbas.”

The grin on Abbas’ face seems to only grow wider, if not more malicious. He is only too happy to comply. “Because, then someone else will have to find ways to keep that awful mouth of yours occupied. After all, we all know how much you love to grovel to your betters to gain favor.”

Altair tries to push past Abbas, tired of listening to the same old crap he’s been listening to for years. “Is this a fantasy of your Abbas? Do you often think of me down on my knees-”

“Oh yes-”

“-sucking cock?”

As the implications become clear to Abbas, the man screws his face up in disgust. “Ah, that would be a no. Such an image would induce nightmares.”

Abbas’ dark eyes flash to the side and he catches Rauf shaking with silent laughter. He glares at the combat instructor. “You find that funny, do you now?”

Rauf only shakes his head, still chuckling good naturedly. “Abbas, I find humor in almost everything. Why don’t you let Altair go and give his report? I’m sure he will contain his darker nature and keep his mouth away from Al Mualim’s person. The meeting should be completely wholesome and pure. Isn’t that right, Altair?”

Altair’s eyes are cold and unfriendly, revealing his feelings about all the ribbing he has been receiving. “I have more important things to be doing than standing here listening to you fools attempt to speak intelligently. Move out of my way, Abbas, before I move you myself.”

Abbas bows sardonically, slightly moving to the side so that Altair can pass by. “Oh, may your will be done, oh Awful One. Please, keep your filthy hands to yourself.”

Altair scoffs and stomps by, as it is still beyond him why he is surrounded by such idiots. He’s been surrounded by them for years, since he was a boy. He thought they were all stupid back then too. Time hasn’t changed anything. If anything, his former novice mates keep getting worse.

“Altair, wait! I would speak with you when you get a chance.” Rauf calls out after Altair’s retreating back.

Without turning or breaking his stride, Altair says, “What is it now, Rauf?”

“Ah, you were in Jerusalem, right? You saw Malik?”

Now Altair stiffens in his stride, feeling his chest tighten in an uncomfortable way that he simply doesn’t understand. It isn’t guilt, surely not. But it isn’t as if he would even know what the particular emotion feels like. He’s never regretted a single thing in his life. “Of course I saw him,” he grits out from between his teeth, staring up at the keep just before him, wishing he could just disappear into it.

“Um…yeah. I want to ask you about him, can we talk when you are done seeing Al Mualim?”

Altair lets out a frustrated breath. He just doesn’t understand these people, these men he has been surrounded by forever. _Why the fuck does it matter that I saw Malik? Why does there even need to be a discussion?_ “Why can’t you just ask what you want to ask now?”

Although Altair has not turned around, he can still imagine Rauf tossing his head in disbelief. “I refuse to have a conversation with you about my friend and his well-being in the middle of the courtyard. Go, speak with Al Mualim and then find me, or I will be angry with you forever.”

Snorting, Altair just shrugs his shoulders in response and continues into the keep, musing over Rauf and how the man could never stay angry for more than a few minutes anyway. Empty threats never carry any weight. Altair’s stomach hurts slightly and he wonders why that is. He isn’t looking forward to speaking about Malik; he doesn’t even think he really has anything to tell Rauf about him anyway. _Malik is a grouchy old man in disguise as always, what else is new? Is that what you want to hear, Rauf?_

Altair walks past the guards at the entrance of the keep and they greet him with wary eyes, filled with dislike. Altair isn’t surprised; it seems everyone has been jealous of his natural skill for years anyway. He passes a few scholars on the way up to the Grand Master’s office and briefly recalls how Malik had often been in the company of those who were more interested in reading and writing than wielding a blade. It had been the most disappointing thing about his rival; Malik could have been so much better if only he had put all his focus into battle and not being some literate, intellectual warrior scholar _. Ha_.

“Master, I have returned,” he called out as he caught sight of Al Mualim’s black clothed form in front of his many book cases.

The old man did not look up from his search amongst the books. “I know. One cannot miss you stomping around like a petulant child.”

Altair holds his tongue in an attempt to gain some points back. A few months ago, he would have said something biting in return, something probably disrespectful, but now that he’s in hot water it just won’t do. “I will try to be quieter next time, Master. I have ended Talal’s life in Jerusalem.”

Al Mualim finally turns and gives Altair a searching look. “That is good. I will restore another rank to you in return for your efforts. I have three more missions for you to begin on once you are ready, in the usual surrounding cities.”

Altair shifts his weight awkwardly and his Master notices. “Is something troubling you, child?”

Not one to miss a moment to blurt out his displeasure, Altair allows disdain and confusion to bleed into his tone as he replies, “I have just completed three missions for you, without question. Without issue. Why can we not simply skip forward? I could do so much more for you if my rank were completely restored to me.”

The older man waves his hand sharply in irritation, as if to cut off Altair’s words. “I am trying to teach you a lesson, boy; I fear that no matter what I do, nothing will penetrate that stubborn skull of yours. I will hear no more on this matter. You will do as I say. You will learn humility, even if I have to beat it into you myself.”

Altair tries a different approach, far from happy with his Master’s response. _It was worth a try,_ he thinks as an afterthought. “So, why these men, Master? They must be connected in some way, correct?”

Al Mualim sighs, as if tired of Altair’s presence and Altair hopes he doesn’t get tossed out before getting an answer of some form. All these years in Masyaf, Altair has always had Al Mualim’s favor and now that it is gone, he doesn’t understand how to get it back, to get the approval that he craves back. How can killing these random men really change anything?

“My boy, in time you will understand. But not now. Go, I tire of your insolent voice gracing this room. Spill the blood of our enemies and gain your honor back, if you are truly deserving of it.”

Altair clenches his fists in a show of poorly hidden fury, but stays his tongue and bows his head in a small form of respect, although he barely has a desire to show it at all at this point in time. “Of course, Master. Safety and peace.”

As the Master returns to pouring over his scrolls and books, Altair leaves, briefly wondering if he should find Rauf or if he should simply sneak off and avoid that entire issue altogether. However, Altair barely has the time to entertain that idea, because as he leaves the office of the Grand Master, Rauf is already waiting for him, outside the door.

Altair groans and Rauf snickers, pushing off the wall he was leaning against. “I knew you were going to think about escaping me. I’m not stupid, Altair. I’ve known you for how long?”

The assassin turns and walks towards Rauf’s room in the keep, knowing the other will follow. “Far too long for my liking,” Altair mutters in response.

“Ah, jokes you have, my friend. They wound me! Here, let me get the door open. I have to lock it; the novices love to leave snakes in my bed as pranks.”

Altair doesn’t really know what to say about that, so he ignores it.

As they enter the room, Rauf removes the cloth covering his mouth, along with his hood. Altair can now read his expressions far easier, as Rauf was never good at hiding them in the first place. The other man looks uncomfortable and anxious; the expressions making him look far younger than usual. “Well? What is it you wanted, Rauf? Speak now or I’m leaving,” Altair says more harshly than he intended, pinning it down on his foul mood.

Rauf sighs and sits down in a heap into the nearest seat. The warm air from outside sweeps into the room from the window and it feels good on Altair’s skin. There is silence for a few moments more and Altair is already counting the seconds till he turns on his heel and storms out. However, just when he is ready to leave, Rauf finally finds whatever courage he needed. “I know it isn’t something you want to talk about.”

Altair dryly snaps, “Astounding. How did you ever come to that conclusion?”

Rauf narrows his eyes in repulsion and shakes his head slowly. “Can you ever stop being so dramatic? There is no audience here, stop putting on a show.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Get to the point or I walk.”

“Careful, Altair, don’t step in your own bullshit,” Rauf snaps back sharply, his tone one Altair has rarely ever heard out of him.

Frustrated, Altair leans against the stone wall, staring at Rauf with a hard gaze. He waits, secretly dreading Rauf’s questions. Malik is a touchy subject; he always has been with Altair. Even before the…uh…brother incident.

Rauf fidgets for a moment, looking anywhere but at Altair’s eyes. “I’ve been worried about Malik. He wasn’t doing well when he was here in Masyaf…after the…you know. Now that he isn’t here I’m concerned about his well-being since I can’t see him.”

A snort. “He is a full grown man, I’m sure he is doing fine. I know his tongue certainly hasn’t dulled.”

“ _Altair!_ He lost his arm and his brother all at once because of you! No wonder his words are harsh when you are around. How insensitive can you be? I consider him one of my closest friends; is it too much to ask that you come to your senses and apologize to him?”

Altair’s mouth drops open slightly and his hazel eyes flash in shock. “Come to my…? My _what_? I’m not apologizing for squat. He is deluded if he thinks all of this is my issue.”

The combat instructor has a pitying look on his face, coupled with…sympathy? _Huh?_ “You are still in denial I see. Look, Altair, I know you are having trouble coming to terms with what you did, the shame you brought upon yourself, I know it stings…”

“ _Excuse me_?” Altair hisses.

Rauf continues on as if he hadn’t even heard Altair speak. “I know how important Malik’s acknowledgement of your skill was to you, when we were younger, so the fact that you basically destroyed any chance you had at making friendly with him is probably unpleasant.”

“I fear you may be suffering from temporary insanity, Rauf. I haven’t a clue as to what you are talking about.”

The other man gives him a meaningful look. “I think you do. You just don’t want to talk about it.”

Exasperated, Altair tilts his head back, his skull gently thudding against the stone wall. “You are completely wrong, Rauf. I am not some tortured soul with thousands of sob stories dying to be told. And even if they were, I would not tell them to you.”

The pity that returns to Rauf’s dark eyes infuriates Altair to no end, as he doesn’t get why the hell he deserves pity anyway. He hates pity, especially if it directed at him. “Altair, someday, you will discover that having friends isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe then you will work things out with Malik, yes?”

“I don’t need anyone else. Malik was fine. I don’t know what else you want to hear.”

Biting his lip, Rauf asks, “So he wasn’t acting strange? Depressed or anything? Kadar was everything to Malik. If I could, I would ride to Jerusalem now, but I cannot.”

The words of devotion are sickening to Altair and he can’t help but feel irritated at their direction. “Malik is strong and I’m sure he doesn’t need you to mother him. I will let him know of your concern if you wish, the next time I see him.”

Rauf’s shoulders sag in a form of relief. “Good. Please let him know. It must get lonely in that damn bureau.”

As Altair turns to go, Rauf calls out again, “Altair, he never hated you. Maybe if you try treating him like he isn’t the dirt beneath your boots…maybe you two could get along better? You might even like it.”

Altair only raises a hand in goodbye as he disappears down the hall, leaving the keep.

Later, after resting in his own quarters and eating, Altair makes his way back down through the hills of Masyaf. The stables at the far end are mostly vacant and he can select any horse he feels like. He chooses the dark black horse, the one that sort of reminds him of something. He can’t put his finger on it, but the stubborn horse tends to put up a fight anytime Altair chooses him.

Stupid fucking horse.

Altair blankly stares out at the vast land before him, thoughts racing through his mind like a legion of arrows in the sky. He has three missions before him and of course one has to be in Jerusalem again. Altair grips the reins of the horse, clenching the leather in his fists hard. He’s never admitted to being uncomfortable around anyone in his life, but if he had, he would have to say that Malik is the only person that does make him feel that way.

Off balance. Unprepared. All of the feelings Altair doesn’t like feeling. Every time those dark eyes look at him, Altair is afraid Malik can see everything inside of him, every dark thought he’s ever had, every insecurity he has ever hidden away. The sharp intelligence, that awful knowing look that always graces Malik’s handsome face, all of it is enough to put Altair on defense every time he’s in the other man’s presence.

He glances in the direction of Jerusalem and his left eye twitches momentarily. No, he won’t go there at the moment. Besides, Malik needs more time to wallow in his unending self-pity that he seems to enjoy throwing in Altair’s face at every given opportunity.  Altair flicks the reins hard and drives the horse towards the road that will take him to Damascus.

Altair can go to Jerusalem later. When he feels like it.

 

* * *

 

* * *

  
  
Meanwhile, miles away in a town called Jerusalem, Dai Malik sits and dreads receiving word of a certain man returning to his bureau. The idea of seeing that proud face again is enough to make his head spin and his stomach tighten in more than just disgust.

He prefers to not acknowledge what else he feels.


	5. The Humility Stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the time it took for this to get pushed out, I got distracted writing my AltMal oneshot. If you have a hankering for some instant smex, go read "On Lies and Devotion" because that's all it is...nasty dirty sexy timez. Anyway...thank you all for your wonderful support! I love getting your comments and kudos. I apologize, this was supposed to be a Malik POV but it turned out being Altair again, so we don't get to peek into whatever the hell is going on in Malik's mind until the next part. Especially since last time we saw Malik....his mind wasn't in a pretty place, so after this chapter you are REALLY going to be wondering what the fuck is going on with him.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of the characters. Those belong to Ubisoft.

It has been nearly two months since Altair last graced Jerusalem with his presence. He tried to prevent the inevitable; he had chosen to go to both Acre and Damascus first for his new round of missions for Al Mualim. None the less, now he finds himself running across Jerusalem’s rooftops, artfully picking off the enemy archers one by one.

 

It is morbid, really. Altair can make an art out of any sort of murder.

 

The sun is way too hot on his back today and he is having difficulty finding the Assassin’s Bureau. Or, perhaps he is stalling more, but that seriously can’t be possible. Altair doesn’t stall when it comes to anything, which is what got him demoted in the first place. At least he has learned that much through the past few months. Altair now recalls the old man in the Temple with a little embarrassment, which is more than he felt originally, which had been nothing at all actually. Altair had known deep down that the man was harmless, but he simply hadn’t cared, all he had wanted was to spill some color on the boring dirt floor.

 

To redden his blade. To feed his unending bloodlust.

 

Grunting with effort, Altair leaps over to another roof, trying to clear his mind of these bothersome thoughts and feelings. Failure isn’t something he likes to dwell on. He angles his body for another jump, but stops short when he hears the typical cry of outrage, “Assassin!”

 

He turns swiftly towards the sound of the voice and barely takes the time to see his opponent before his knives are whistling through the air, like shrill messages of death. Altair is rewarded with the sound of someone collapsing in silence. Dismissing the now dead enemy, he continues on his way, wincing as he hears a familiar, scornful voice in his head. “ _Did you even look? Did you even think? How do you know you didn’t kill another innocent man? You never look; you never wait. I look at you and still see an impatient child.”_

Altair’s lip curls slightly at Malik’s voice echoing in his brain. It is like the other man has become his conscience and everywhere he goes he can’t escape him. He can still recall the biting look he had received at the temple over the dead body of the elderly man, the way Malik had looked so disgusted yet not even surprised. Altair had always put it down to Malik’s jealousy of his natural skill, but now…now Altair isn’t so sure.

 

The last few assassinations have got Altair thinking. Doubting. All his life he has been seeing evil all around him, ending the lives of horrible men. Ending lives with impunity. With every assassination he finds himself wondering if he is any different than those he hunts. It is a hard thing to come to terms with, the idea of _am I not a good man? Do I like playing with lives too much? Am I consumed by power?_

Perhaps Malik has always been right about him, but the idea of it is just too disgusting to accept so Altair just does what he always does when something bothers his sensibilities; he pushes it away. He is standing above the bureau now, his shadow falling into the depths of the building as he looks down into it. Altair’s muscles aren’t moving, he keeps telling himself, _just fucking go in, what’s the big deal,_ but his body isn’t responding the way it should.

 

“I can see your shadow, you fool. Stop hovering like some Christian gargoyle. This isn’t a church. It’s disturbing,” Malik says snidely, his voice drifting up from below.

 

Altair startles, figuring he would have had more time to reside outside without notice, but Malik has always been good at observing his surroundings. Forcing all the air out of his lungs, Altair swings down into the bureau, confidently swaggering into the office area, where the scent of sandalwood permeates from the burning incense in the corner. “Safety and peace, Malik. What did you just call me? A gargoyle?”

 

Malik snorts in disgust, refusing to look up from the book in his hand. “Yes, Altair. A gargoyle. A hideous stone creature that resides on top of the highest of towers. Sound familiar?”

 

Altair leans against the wall and pushes his hood down, hiding his sigh of relief as he begins to cool down from the heat outside. His hair is drenched in sweat and he wants nothing more than to dunk it in the fountain. “And this is the first thing that comes to mind when you see me? A grotesque stone creature?”

 

Now Malik’s eyes finally rise from the book. The intense darkness of his gaze meets Altair’s briefly and then flickers down Altair’s form, then back up and back to the molding book in his grasp. Altair runs the scene over in his head again and wonders why Malik looked at him like that…like he was actually _looking_ at him.

 

Malik’s voice is hesitant and dry all at once as he says, “…yes. That is exactly what I think of.”

 

The scent of sandalwood is overwhelming, but Altair doesn’t mind, seeing as it is one of the oils he generally uses when he bathes. It never occurred to him that Malik liked burning it, but come to think of it, Altair is pretty sure Malik was burning it the last time he was in Jerusalem. Back to business though, Altair isn’t here for pleasantries, not that Malik would offer them anyway. “You know why I am here, brother. What can you tell me about my target? I’d like some suggestions.”

 

Altair watches as Malik’s jaw tightens over the word ‘brother,’ but doesn’t comment. Rauf’s words are still fresh in his mind despite the fact that Altair thinks Rauf is a giant mother hen. Malik finally puts down his book and regards Altair with a guarded interest. He tilts his head to the side and says, “What madness is this? Are you asking for my help?”

 

Altair grits his teeth to keep from snapping back. Keeping his voice level, he replies, “I always ask for the help of the rafiq before a mission.”

 

Malik gestures sharply, and his tone is only slightly aggressive. “No, generally you demand it. I know the tone of voice you use when you come stomping around. How can I ever forget? I prefer this one much more. Has someone beaten you with the humility stick? No? Ah, I can dream. Come here and stop skulking against the wall like some criminal so we can talk like men.”

 

The voice is stern and grasps at Altair like a firm hand, leading him away from the wall and over to Malik’s counter. “I’m not a criminal. Can you tell me about this Majd Addin?”

 

“Of course. He rules through fear and punishment. The people of Jerusalem cower before his tyranny. The man is destroying this city from the inside out and he must be stopped at all costs,” Malik says passionately, his voice fierce.

 

Slightly riled up by Malik’s conviction against the other man, Altair says, “Then I will end him as soon as possible. Today even. He’ll die.”

 

There is cold amusement in Malik’s eyes, a touch of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Patience, Altair. Always so eager, are you not? He’s a powerful man, he controls half of the city, probably more. He will be well guarded. This isn’t something you just jump into. When will you ever learn?”

 

Altair’s fingers grip the countertop and Malik’s gaze drifts down to look at them. The assassin’s throat works as he tries to figure out what to say in response because he knows Malik is right. “Patience has never been one of my skills…”

 

Malik grins mirthlessly and gestures towards his missing arm, shaking his head bitterly, “Of course. I know that better than any man-”

 

Raising his voice, Altair continues on as if he didn’t hear Malik’s words, “…but that is why I need you to help me. You’ve always been good at…seeing and understanding things that I do not.”

 

It felt like he was pulling his own teeth, seeing how difficult it was to get those seemingly simple words out.

 

His words are met with a deathly silence. Altair’s nerves are running amok as he slowly brings his gaze back to Malik, almost afraid of his expression. Malik looks like he’s been slapped, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. It is a vaguely attractive look on the man and Altair must admit he likes this expression more than he likes the constant scowl that Malik always presents to him. Malik leans forward a little so that his face is directly in front of Altair’s, uncomfortably so. “You _need_ me to help you? Curious. Have you done some growing up in the past few months? I wonder. Allah, why has this boy taken so long to mature?”

 

Oh he _didn’t_. “Malik, fucking hell, I’m not a kid!”

 

Altair can’t get over the way Malik laughs, that full throated laugh that has never, ever been directed at him. Until now. He can still remember how as a novice he would resentfully watch the way Rauf could pull those laughs out of Malik effortlessly. With mirth still spread across Malik’s face, the darker man huskily says, “Never fear young man, I will show you the ropes…I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

 

Altair thinks he must have died with his ass in the saddle of that stubborn horse a few miles back outside Jerusalem because Malik never jokes with him. Sure, he usually makes jokes about Altair, but certainly not with Altair. “Now I see how you were so popular with the whores in Masyaf, Malik. I think you could even lure a man into bed with your sly tongue,” Altair says in a teasingly reproachful tone.

 

Although Malik raises an eyebrow in amusement, his eyes seem to freeze at Altair’s words for a moment, as if thinking something through and Altair wonders if he said something wrong. Yes, homosexual acts were more often than not met with the punishment of death, but Altair was only kidding…

 

Then Malik does the unexpected. He leans forward even further so that his nose gently brushes against Altair’s as he speaks. The whisper of a touch sends a shiver through Altair’s body. “Why? Is it working on you?”

 

Altair blinks and realizes that the amusement is back in Malik’s eyes. Completely out of his area of expertise, Altair clears his throat a little and tries to appear like this whole thing isn’t unnerving him. “And if it was? What would you do then?”

 

 A slow smile twists Malik’s mouth and a suspiciously hot look rises in his eyes and deep down Altair feels like that look can’t simply be part of the joke. That look can’t possibly be faked. Suddenly the only sound Altair can hear is the blood rushing through his skull. Malik’s lips are still moving as he speaks, but Altair can’t seem to pay attention to a single word because for once Malik’s attention is fully on him and his tone of voice isn’t completely filled with disgust and….and…

 

Two sets of feet touch down on the ground of the bureau in the next room over, but the sound is too soft for Altair or Malik to hear. The novices Ashur and Jalil round the corner and Ashur groans exaggeratedly. “Oh no. Not this guy _again_!”

 

Jalil looks at the two men with a disturbed sort of interest. “Ew. Are we interrupting…something? Should we come back later, Dai Malik?”

 

Malik flushes in horror as he realizes what it looks like. He backs away from Altair, who looks more than a little confused, and waves the boys in, chuckling nervously. “Ah, novices, we were discussing a rumor of which we cannot speak of regarding…an informers wife. Yes! We would gladly share it, but it is not for your young delicate ears. My sincere apologies. How can I help you today?”

 

The boys don’t look completely convinced, but they let it slide and approach Malik, speaking about some nonsense task. Altair sags in vague relief and vanishes over to the fountain, dunking his head into the water, trying to hide his utter mortification. When he can’t hold his breath any longer, Altair pulls out of the water and simply stares down into it blankly. His face is red and he doesn’t understand why his heart is racing.

 

It was just a joke, a stupid flirting game he’s seen novices play with each other before, trying to see who would get uncomfortable first. Hell, he’d seen Malik do it plenty of times with Rauf back in the day, but it never seemed so…intense. But maybe that’s because Malik’s attention was not directed at him during those times or maybe it is because Rauf isn’t really very seductive at all, or maybe…wait _what_?

 

Scrunching his nose up in disgust, Altair briefly tries to think on Rauf being seductive and it just comes out horribly sick and wrong because the man is just too…vanilla. Horrified by his own thoughts, Altair rubs his hands over his face tiredly. He’s been in a saddle for three days and he is exhausted and just wants to sleep. _Fuck Malik and his bedroom eyes, it’s just because he’s a manwhore_ , Altair thinks grumpily as he flops onto some of the pillows in the far corner, out of Malik’s all-knowing gaze.

 

Closing his eyes for a nap, because he still needs to talk to Malik about where to start his mission, Altair briefly figures he can tell Rauf that Malik is definitely feeling much better. It was nice for a change to not have his pride whipped by Malik’s unreal tongue lashings. The anger is still there, Altair can see it, but the tension isn’t so horrible this time around. Last time was awful. Perhaps Malik is beginning to see that Altair isn’t totally at fault for Kadar’s death? Or is it something else?

 

Either way, it appears that Kadar’s death needed to happen for Malik to even notice Altair as anything other than the dirt under his boots, because whatever happened moments ago would have never happened a few months ago. Kadar held all of Malik’s attention, at all times. Rauf came in close second, but Rauf generally liked being in everyone’s business; especially if they didn’t want him in it.

 

For a moment Altair feels guilty about his thoughts and the idea of not being a good man drifts back into his skull, like a disease.

 

Maybe it’s true. Maybe he is evil, just like the men he kills.

 

The conversation in the other room ends and the young novices chatter wildly together as they step over Altair’s form on their way out of the bureau to complete whatever meaningless task Malik has given them. Ashur goes out of his way to step on Altair’s prone form. Snarling, Altair sits up and tries to make a grab for the novice’s foot. “You little shit! I’ll shove your own boot up your ass when I see you again!”

 

At the top of the entrance, Ashur sticks his tongue out and disappears, leaving Altair to hiss in fury.

 

“Altair,” calls a mocking voice from the other room, “I was not done with you.”

 

Oh. Right.


	6. On Dreams and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Hey everyone!! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments! I love reading them and seeing what you guys think. I am sorry this didn't come out earlier, last weekend I was totally bedridden after clubbing too hard on Friday night...that is my own darn fault, yes I know. Secondly...I have been interviewing this week (I generally am on the phone being interviewed multiple times a week, but this time I had to travel to the city for an in person one) and I got hired. Yay! So college is over and my career is getting started so I'm thrilled. Now that I don't have to deal with all this interviewing shenanigans anymore I figured I could crank this chapter out for you.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or Assassin's Creed. They belong to Ubisoft.

_The Son of None is glaring at him again, but what else is new? The prodigy is sharpening one of his fine daggers in the courtyard and the moment Malik steps into crisp morning air with Rauf, Altair looks up and scowls at them like they are an affront to his very person. Malik gives Altair what he hopes resembles the evil eye and in response the paler boy twirls his throwing knife menacing, gaze never drifting from Malik’s._

_“What are you looking at him for? You know I would treat you better,” Rauf says with a rather silly wink._

_Game on._

_Malik laughs, but his eyes flicker over towards Altair sharply once again as they continue to cross the yard. “Is that so, Rauf? And how would you do that?”_

_An awkward looks crosses Rauf’s features. His brow furrows as he squints his dark eyes at Malik. “Ah…um? Hm. Yeah. Definitely don’t know. I think that goes beyond my scope of male flirtation.”_

_Game off. Game won._

_Holding his palm out, Malik wiggles his fingers expectantly. Rauf sighs with exasperation while digging in his pocket for some coin. “Really, Malik? Every time!”_

_Abbas passes them by, raising an eyebrow at the sight of money passing between the pair. “You know Al Mualim frowns upon novices gambling.”_

_Pocketing the money quickly, Malik scans the upper windows to see if anyone noticed. “Are you simply informing us of this information, Abbas, or are you telling us that you are about to go rat on us so we can await Al Mualim’s wrath in fear?”_

_There is a rude snort from the far side of the courtyard. “That pathetic swine would rat on his own grandma if he thought it would gain him glory.”_

_Abbas flushes a furious red and spins to point at Altair. “Silence infidel! Not another word out of your poisonous mouth!”_

_A cold grin flashes across Altair’s lips, purely for Abbas’ benefit, but he does not speak again, instead working on his knives in silence once more._

_Still slightly red, breathing heavily through his nose, Abbas pivots to face Malik and Rauf, the latter snickering behind his hand. “So tell me. What were you betting on? If you amuse me perhaps I won’t tell,” Abbas says finally, looking at both boys sternly with his hands on his hips._

_He is clearly trying to emulate a menacing stance…but since it is Abbas it comes off as less than menacing and more ridiculous._

_Rauf shrugs his shoulders a little, as if dismissing the whole thing, but Malik can tell he really has no desire to get in trouble. Rauf doesn’t get in trouble for anything, preferring to stay under the notice of others. The boy chooses to be popular and liked by all, but when push comes to shove he isn’t about to step on anyone’s toes, even if it means getting noticed by his betters. “It was Chicken, Abbas. We automatically pay up if we lose, remember?”_

_“Ack, that absurd game? What imbeciles you are,” Abbas scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief._

_Nodding in Altair’s direction, Malik leans forward and says, “I would pay big money if you could beat Altair.”_

_Abbas’ eyes go wide and he leans back. “Oh no. Are you kidding me? He would probably rip my balls off and then feed them to me. Besides, he doesn’t believe in games with us mere mortals does he? He wouldn’t even play cards with us the other night, remember?”_

_Yes, Malik recalls Altair putting up some big stink about them playing a friendly game of cards last night in their room. They were bored and no one was tired yet and Altair blamed it on their lack of desire to train all day long. Which, of course in Altair’s mind made them all ‘wretched weaklings’, unlike him. “It would have been funny to see though,” Rauf said softly, as if hoping Altair wouldn’t hear._

_Abbas shrugs with vague disinterest. “Whatever. That spawn of hell is of no interest to me. The less I interact with him, the better my day turns out.”_

_It is regrettable that Malik can basically agree with that statement. He opens his mouth to respond when Rauf tugs him away gently, saying goodbye to Abbas and begging him to have mercy on the gambling matter. Abbas rolls his eyes dramatically and allows them to pass by, outside of the gates. Rauf and Malik have their daily morning jog to attend to, after all. They set an easy pace around the village, still sweating even though it is still fairly early in the morning. When they return, hair soaked with sweat and grime, they run into Kadar who is just leaving the keep with a group of other younger novices. Seeing them, Kadar’s face lights up with a big grin and he waves fanatically. “Malik! Rauf! How’s the village this morning?”_

_Rauf laughs, his white teeth flashing. “I’m not sure. They were all asleep as far as I know. People have just started leaving their homes for the market.”_

_As they get closer, Malik pulls his brother in for a giant bear hug, making sure to get as much of his sweat on him, laughing as Kadar shrieks in disgust. “Could you be anymore disgusting, Malik? Go throw yourself in the lake, you smell like a camel’s ass,” The fourteen year old whines, wiping his cheek off._

_Rauf wrinkles his nose in confusion, sniffing. “I don’t smell anything unusual.”_

_Malik raises an eyebrow at him. “That could be because you smell like a camel’s ass too.”_

_Nodding in understanding, Rauf simply says, “Ah. That could be.”_

_Kadar looks between them in vague disgust and shakes his head. “You two are ridiculous. Anyway, I need to be catching up with my training group. Speaking of, you guys totally missed Altair destroy this older assassin. It was_ awesome _! He’s so inspiring.”_

_Malik pretends to gag at his little brother’s words. “Altair, inspiring? What hashish have you been smoking, Kadar? He’s the lord of destroying motivation for anyone he comes across.”_

_Kadar glares a little and Malik holds it against him since this is his little brother who should be worshipping him and not Altair, who is utterly unworthy, by the way. “Malik, I thought he motivated you to try harder, seeing how you always want to be better than him.”_

_Sniffing, Malik says archly, “I am better than him.”_

_“Here we go again,” Rauf mutters ominously._

_“If you are better than him, how come you aren’t defeating the older assassin’s like he is?”_

_Ouch. Kadar has him there. Looking for another way to make his brother understand, Malik replies, “Battle skill isn’t the only way a person can be measured.”_

_Kadar looks a little confused. “Since when? I thought our skill in battle was everything. If we aren’t good, we fail.”_

_Or die. The words go unspoken._

_Throwing an arm around Kadar’s shoulders, Rauf winks, trying to lighten the mood. “Listen to your brother’s wisdom, you young thing. He’s a scholar and a warrior. Which makes him smart. Yup.”_

_“Kadar, you don’t know Altair like I do. He’s…difficult,” Malik starts hesitantly._

_His brother does not look impressed, nor does he look happy that Rauf’s armpit is near his face. Frustrated slightly, Malik continues. “I’ll admit, he is a…prodigy when it comes to battle. But he is lacking in character. Morals. He only cares for himself. Think about it; would you want to be on a mission with a man who only cares for his own victory and glory?”_

_Little do the A-Sayf brother’s know that those very words are connected to their future._

_There is silence for a moment as both older boys wait for Kadar’s reaction. Everyone knows that Kadar’s idol is the Son of None and no one who knows Altair understands why. Kadar and Malik are as close as brothers can be…but when the matter of Altair comes up, things get a little messy. Both Rauf and Malik are surprised when Kadar bites his lip a little and faintly nods. “I suppose you interact with him the most, you would know. But don’t you think…maybe if you were nicer to him…don’t you think he would care about others if they cared about him?”_

_Malik throws his hands up in defeat. His brother is too forgiving and inherently kind-hearted that he doesn’t see the irredeemable asshole in Altair like everyone else does. “I give up. Kadar, go join your group before they leave you behind.”_

_The young novice squirms out from under Rauf’s suffocating arm and gives a weak grin at his older brother. “I’ll see you at lunch, right, Malik?”_

_He can’t stay mad at Kadar. Ever, no matter what the silly boy does. “Of course, Kadar. Now go! Don’t fall behind.”_

_Smiling, the youngest A-Sayf brother turns and waves goodbye at the same time as he chases after his group. Rauf and Malik watch in dismay as the boy trips and falls over a rock in his haste, landing on his face. Rauf leans closer to Malik and whispers in his ear, “I worry about that boy…”_

_“As do I,” Malik replies weakly, staring after his quite hopeless brother._

* * *

 

* * *

  
  
The months in the bureau have been rough. Not that the work is hard, Malik rather enjoys it actually. It is more so his dreams have been creating a sickening guilt in his stomach, almost to the point of self-loathing. Malik has never hated himself in his life, but recently he has been experiencing that feeling far too much. He only has one person to thank for that and he doesn’t even want to think about said person more than he has to.

 

Why? Because said person, said assassin, has been appearing in his nightmares at night. Sometimes the dreams are exactly what Malik would expect, filled with the pain and agony of losing Kadar because of an incredibly foolish man. Reliving his brother’s death over and over in his dreams is enough to cause him unending misery. The thoughts of ‘what if I could have saved him’ or ‘I should have tried harder’ or ‘it is all my fault’ are driving him mad.

 

Then there are the other dreams that haunt Malik. The ones that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with him and if so, how can he fix this fucking issue. Ever since that one night, a few months ago, Malik has staunchly refused to touch himself. He is terrified of what will get him off. He is terrified of what might get him going.

 

The result of this self-abstinence has caused his fears to seep into his dreams at night. The more he tries to not think about Altair, the more he ends up thinking about him at in the darkness. Those mocking eyes laughing at him in his sleep. The gaze that may or may not be saying ‘I’ve ruined you; I’ve ruined you and everything you love.’

 

Of course, Malik knew Altair would be returning to Jerusalem at some point in time. He dreaded it, in fact. He wasn’t prepared when he saw the shadow pouring over the floor in the other room of his bureau. Instinctively he knew who it had to be. Who else would hover with such an odd insecurity? Who else would be so uncomfortable about visiting the one armed Dai of Jerusalem? Malik’s heart had raced, the blood pounding in his ears because he still couldn’t forget the way he came all over his hand when the image of Altair came into his mind all those weeks ago.

 

So Malik covers up his own insecurity and calls Altair down, calling him a gargoyle, the first thing that came to Malik’s mind. Which is stupid, really.

 

Then everything goes fucking downhill from there because Altair isn’t supposed to have an ounce of humility. He isn’t supposed to ask Malik for help. He isn’t supposed to act like he has grown up, just a little bit. This is ruining everything! Malik wants to shake Altair violently and scream, _stop ruining my hate, you imbecile!_

How can Malik continue hating him if Altair changes anymore? How can he keep blaming Altair for being a selfish piece of shit if he begins to see that the world doesn’t revolve around him? The worst thing about it is that Altair is _handsome_. Not that Malik is attracted to men, or at least he is pretty damn sure he isn’t, but Altair was never handsome to Malik before simply because his personality was so utterly horrendous.  Now…a mature Altair could be dangerous.

 

Malik tries to keep these thoughts in the back of his mind as he converses with Altair, who is showing him the slightest slice of charm. He barely even realizes how close he is to making a horrible, sick mistake when the two novices, Jalil and Ashur walk in.

 

Then, it is like a magical spell is broken and Malik steps away from the demon in front of him, the one tempting him towards sin. The pit of his stomach hates him and his heart is calling him a traitor for even trying to be slightly nice to Altair, the man who got his innocent little brother killed. Altair leaves the room thankfully and Malik feels like he can breathe again.

 

* * *

 

* * *

  
  
“I see you are getting along with that one better than last time,” Ashur says inquiringly as he watches Altair slink out of the room like a rat.

 

Malik takes a deep breath to compose himself once more, trying to dismiss Altair from his mind. “Yes, well, I suppose I cannot verbally abuse him every second of the day. It would be a waste of my valuable energy. Now, I believe you two are here to carry a package to the next town over, correct?”

 

Both boys nod yes.

 

“Good. Then I don’t have to explain the whole thing to you do I? You know where to go? Yes? Great. Here it is,” Malik says as he hoists a large package from behind his countertop, handing it to Jalil.

 

“So you really expect us to believe that bullshit answer you gave us about what you were doing a few moments ago,” Ashur says with a frown as Jalil starts for the doorway.

 

Heart pattering uncomfortably again, Malik firmly replies, “Yes I do. And it wasn’t bullshit, whatever gave you that idea? Foolish novice.”

 

The boys still don’t look very convinced, but they promise to come visit again once they are done with their ‘mission.’ Malik is slightly glad they are gone, but at the same time he isn’t because now he has Altair to deal with once more and his inhibitions are beginning to get a grip on his nerves again. He frowns when he hears Altair snarl at one of the novices in the other room, so he calls out to him. “Altair, I was not done with you.”

 

There is a resounding groan from the other room in response and Malik listens as Altair drags himself back into Malik’s office, dripping with water from the fountain. “There, now that you do not smell of cow dung, are you ready to talk business, Altair?”

 

Altair looks slightly angry at that, but simply says, “I was ready before. You just had to go about insulting me and one thing led to another. Not my fault.”

 

Those words again. _Not my fault._ Malik hates those words.

 

“It is always your fault. When in doubt, I always put them blame on you, Altair. It has always served me in the past.”

 

“I’m sure it has,” Altair responds dryly, looking unimpressed, waiting.

 

Malik flips open a large book with some notes and information he has been gathering on Majd Addin. He also keeps his maps ready. “I can tell you where to start, but it is getting late and I know most of the areas are going to be closing down for the night. You may be able to eavesdrop on some of the people at the current time, but I want you to scope out this section of the city and this one here. That will probably have to wait for tomorrow since the sky is darkening.”

 

Altair is gazing down at the map with interest, trying to commit the areas to memory and Malik feels his mouth go dry as he studies the other assassin’s features closely. The strong nose. The cheekbones. Those scarred lips, always curled in a sneer. He can’t help it, but he wishes he could. It is utterly stupid, he hates the man, but he feels so alive when he is around him. Briefly he wonders if he is some sort of masochist, seeing how he loves the pain that comes with all of their encounters, the self-disgust.

 

“I can definitely scope around and walk among the people tonight. I’ll continue the bulk of the investigation tomorrow morning I suppose, since you say this Majd Addin is so dangerous,” Altair says softly, though with reserve since it is clear that he would rather just go in blind and attempt to kill the target now.

 

“Good. I am glad you are being so cooperative for once.”

 

Altair gives him a sardonic look and shakes his head. “Get over yourself, Malik. I get tired of your holier than thou attitude.”

 

“Oh, really? I have long been tired of your attitude in general!” Malik crows scathing, secretly glad to be fighting again because it is safe ground.

 

“If that is all, I will be going now. I’ll be back later,” Altair hisses through his gritted teeth, hot anger flashing through his usually cold eyes.

 

“Safety and peace, Altair, although I doubt the city will have much with you running around.”

 

As he walks out of the bureau, Altair fakes a dry laugh, “Ha ha, you are so funny, Malik. Oh so clever.”

 

The moment he leaves, Malik sags against the counter and lets out the air he has been holding. Allah, he hates that man so much.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

It is after dinner when Altair returns, silent like a ghost. He barely acknowledges Malik’s presence and simply flops down onto the cushions by the fountain. Ah, here is the sulky Altair that Malik has known all his life. He’s been wondering where this side of Altair has been hiding today. “I am glad you had the sense to return at a decent hour this time, novice,” Malik calls out, unable to resist making the dig at Altair.

 

There is no response and Malik assumes Altair is simply tired…or rather tired of pretending to be nice. The menacing glare he receives from under the hood says as much when Altair finally glances his way. Malik is not surprised; of course Altair could not keep up the humble façade for long. It must have been exhausting for one such as him.

 

“I assume you will be starting your investigation bright and early tomorrow,” Malik states dryly, dreading the idea of Altair staying in the bureau overnight, especially knowing they will be alone.

 

“Will those two obnoxious cretins be returning tonight?” Altair asks flatly.

 

Malik shakes his head. “They will be returning tomorrow afternoon, I believe. Congratulations, you get the whole room to yourself tonight. Are there enough pillows to cushion your large ego this time?”

 

The assassin grunts in response.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Malik replies, still waiting for a real response from his…guest.

 

Altair sighs loudly. “I suppose there are enough pillows. Goodnight, Malik.”

 

The Dai knows a dismissal when he hears one, although he can’t say he is pleased about being dismissed in his own bureau by a novice like Altair. He turns and leaves the front room, heading towards his bedroom. “Glad to hear it. Night.”

 

When Malik falls onto his bed, he falls asleep almost instantly, welcoming the darkness.

 

_It is another dream, that much he can tell. Kadar is babbling about something cheerfully, looking to Malik for his approval occasionally. They are practicing their swordsmanship together, although Kadar could really use far more skill to keep up with Malik. It is a good dream, so far._

_Like always._

_But then it changes and Malik’s blade slips and slides straight into Kadar’s stomach. Time seems to freeze, except for the way that blood spreads out from the entry wound, dripping down Kadar’s front. The betrayed look on Kadar’s face cuts Malik to the bone and he pulls away, watching in horror as Kadar slides to his knees. Blood bubbles at his mouth and Kadar gurgles, “It’s your fault, why didn’t you protect me?”_

_Kadar’s eyes close and Malik wraps his –two- arms around Kadar desperately. “Kadar, no, please. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do this. It isn’t my fault. I…I did everything I could.”_

_Then everything changes and goes white. Kadar is gone and only Altair remains in his place, standing across from Malik. “Still blaming me, are you?” Altair asks arrogantly, a slight sneer gracing his features as he comes closer to Malik._

_Malik’s vocal cords aren’t working and he can’t move, he is trapped as Altair moves into his personal space. The other man stands cheek to cheek with him now, breathing softly into his ear, “It’s who I am. Don’t you know that I don’t know any better?”_

_Altair’s lips slide across his jaw roughly and Malik shivers with something that could be either disgust or desire. Or a mix of both. The heat from Altair’s body is enveloping him. “Weren’t you always saying I wasn’t good enough to begin with? How could I have protected him if you are the one who is better than me? Or. Are you. Just. Plain. Wrong. Perhaps you blame me because deep down you thought I was good enough to keep you both safe. And maybe, at the same time you are right, I wasn’t good enough. Not for you.”_

_There is no poison more deadly than the poison that slides off Altair’s tongue, the tongue that slides into Malik’s mouth and consumes him completely. Arms wrap around him like a vise and Malik allows his worst enemy to delve deeper into his mouth despite the fact that he just saw his little brother bleeding out on the floor. It's awful...it's awful...it's everything he wants all at once.  
_

When Malik wakes up, he can almost believe that Kadar is wrapped up in his grasp, just like the old days when he had nightmares or a trouble with some bullying novice and would sneak into Malik’s room. Sighing sleepily, Malik tightens his hold and brushes his nose into his brother’s hair at the nape of his neck, inhaling softly. The scent pleases him, calms him. It is then that Malik realizes that the overwhelming scent of sandalwood isn’t a scent that can be attributed to his younger brother. His younger brother isn’t this large and muscular either.

 

His younger brother, who is by the way, dead.

 

Malik stiffens as this new development wakes his mind up fully. A cold, sick dread is building up in his chest as his heart begins to race and he doesn’t want to open his eyes, no he really doesn’t because he is terrified of what he will see. However, he has no choice because he can feel the breathing pattern change in the body in front of him. The person is now awake and Malik can’t simply pretend this didn’t happen. At least not at the moment.

 

He opens his eyes and pulls away from the intruder, glaring a hole into the back of their head. “What,” he rasps, “are you doing in my bed?”

 

Malik is furious beyond measure and it only intensifies when said intruder rolls onto their back to gaze up at him with that unyielding golden-green gaze. Moving like a snake, Malik wraps his hand around Altair’s throat and squeezes, hissing, “Well? I’m waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I love to hear your thoughts :)


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